pigeon-house again.

One evening, when they were talking together in their sweet, cooing way,
Mother Pigeon said:--

"We each have a story to tell, I know; so let each one take his turn,
and Father Pigeon begin."

Then Father Pigeon said:--

"To-day I have been down to the shining little stream that runs through
the wood. The green ferns grow on either side of it, and the water is
cool, cool, cool! for I dipped my feet into it, and wished that you all
were there."

"I know the stream," cooed Mother Pigeon. "It turns the wheels of the
mills as it hurries along, and is busy all day on its way to the river."

"To-day I have talked with the birds in the garden," said Sweet Voice,
one of the young pigeons, "the thrush, the blackbird, and bluebird, and
all. They sang to me and I cooed to them, and together we made the world
gay. The bluebird sang of the sunshine, and the blackbird of the
harvest; but the thrush sang the sweetest song. It was about her nest in
the tree."

"I heard you all," said Fleet Wing, the other young pigeon; "for I sat
and listened on the high church tower. I was so high up, there, that I
thought I was higher than anything else; but I saw the great sun shining
in the sky, and the little white clouds, like sky pigeons, sailing above
me. Then, looking down, I saw, far away, this white pigeon-house; and it